


A Day in the Tropics

by Keiko Kirin (sakana17)



Category: Master and Commander - O'Brian
Genre: Age of Sail, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-07-15
Updated: 2004-07-15
Packaged: 2017-10-03 18:37:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakana17/pseuds/Keiko%20Kirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Day in the Tropics

**Author's Note:**

> Set during The Thirteen Gun Salute.

Jack made his way through the sweltering streets of Pulo Prabang, puffing occasionally -- perhaps he could do to lose a half a stone or so, he admitted grudgingly -- and fairly swimming in sweat under his coat. But though he was physically uncomfortable his current distracted mood preoccupied him: Stephen's recent mention of the Sultan's cup-bearer as Ganymede had disturbed him in a gentle and unexpected way, like shifting the dust from papers long set aside.

The bawdy-house was quiet -- it was midday and too damned hot for much activity -- and to Jack's great disappointment Stephen was not about. The small room was empty but for the large bed under white gauze. A crooked wide doorway opened onto a shaded verandah and a bright red thin curtain rippled with the rare occasional breeze. Jack stood in the room and took off his hat to mop his brow. The thought of fagging all the way back down to the _Diane_ in this furnace gave Jack pause. He took off his coat and loosened his neckcloth and while he fanned himself with a paper from his pocket his thoughts drifted back to Ganymede and Jupiter: of the sky and of the myths.

Of course Jack _had_ noticed the cup-bearer: had thought him a girl at first, and upon realising it could not be a girl, had thought that if one liked boys that womanish, one might as well have a wench instead. There was something terribly comforting about having a woman's legs under one's table, as someone had once told him; but there was also something comforting -- albeit a very different kind of comfort -- in having a man's legs between one's-- Jack perceived he was not alone in the room.

At first when he glimpsed the slender golden body beyond the red curtain he thought it was the cup-bearer, and was struck by the significance of this: Stephen with that epicene creature opened up possibilities Jack had rarely allowed himself to contemplate. Not since years ago in Mahon, in Sussex, in Spain. Had not contemplated seriously, at any rate, save perhaps for that time in the Indian Ocean and that other time while on blockade: but by all events, never very seriously, for Stephen was such a rare cove. Surprising in his affections at times, mysterious in them at others. But Jack's contemplations had been more like _musings_ or idle waking dreams: mind-pictures of an idyllic lazy summer day, alone on the jolly boat on a sea becalmed, or in a wild overgrown lawn, or under the lemon trees in Stephen's castle.

He had not allowed himself to think upon it further, for as a sensual, physical longing it was of little notice. Jack had spent his entire life having sensual longings -- often indulged, he had to allow, but he was quite accustomed to doing without. And these particular physical longings he had indulged only once -- no, twice, or was it thrice? -- with dear old Heneage, in much earlier, bawdier days. But when the nature of desire went deeper, beyond the immediate need, the risk and consequence became too great: a misstep could be disastrous and destructive, and Jack was not willing to risk the comfort of the great love which had developed between him and Stephen.

The golden figure stepped forward from the verandah and it was not the Sultan's cup-bearer: it was Stephen's sleeping partner, about whom Jack had overheard many specultative and admiring whispers on the _Diane_. Stephen rarely -- almost never -- slept with female comfort away from home, and Jack had been exceedingly curious about his current lady-friend. His was a curiosity immediately satisfied, for she was entirely naked. Her breasts were high, firm and pointed and her hips rounded in a generous curve. The moist midday heat left a sheen on her brown skin. She had deep black hair hanging down her back and between her thighs in a sumptuous v. She was eating a mango and licked the juice from her mouth as she lazily approached him, watching him with dark amused eyes.

Jack swallowed hard and licked his lips. He had been at sea a very long time, without intimate company of any sex. Sweat ran down his back and pooled beneath the band of his breeches. He was about to bow and excuse himself, but the woman had reached him and smiling at him she pulled the last of the soft yellow fruit from its skin and pressed it to his mouth. He parted his lips and ate it: sweet and soft and sometimes scratchy; and she knelt in front of him and with a graceful ease undressed him from his breeches and underclothes, shoes and stockings. He had little time to wonder or reflect upon the impropriety of doing this in Stephen's room; the sweet juice of the mango was still on his tongue, and she took him into her wet seeking warm mouth.

The air was heavy, stifling. Jack panted from the wonderful surprise of it, quickly working the buttons on his waistcoat and shirt to pull off both, then gave himself over to the weight of the air on his naked skin and pushed deeper into her eager mouth. As he rocked, a desultory breeze carrying a pungent sweet smoky scent touched his cheek. He knew that scent -- he knew it very well and could give it a name, but the immediacy, the intimacy, of her mouth pulled at him and took him in further, away from the name.

An exquisitely unbearable moment taunted him as he reached the pinnacle of sensation: pushing faster to reach it, so close -- and just then he saw a shape, a shadow, standing on the verandah. Watching. Smoking a cheroot. _Stephen_: the name was inside him in a complex tangled echo as the moment froze and melted instantaneously, leaving Jack drenched and spent.

_Oh, God_, Jack thought when reasoning returned. Stepping back from the girl he looked about for his clothes and was stupid in his agitation, unable to focus or move quickly. Stephen left his cigar on a railing and came in from the verandah wearing only a shirt and breeches. His gaze was steady and unreadable and his eyes a startling, startling pale that made Jack falter. Stephen looked from him to the woman, who rose and smiled and lay back on the bed, pushing the gauze netting aside. None of it made sense to Jack: not until Stephen had pulled off his clothes -- his lean body tense, coiled, aroused -- and the woman had opened her legs for him; and then they were joined.

The shock of it shook Jack from his irresolution, yet left him in an alluring, heady exhilirated state. This was a dream, a waking dream in an upside-down world, and what was right or wrong, proper or improper, had no meaning here: it was all things at once. He sank to the floor and watched the beauty of their bodies moving, the contrast of the woman's brown skin next to Stephen's. He watched Stephen: how his back arched, how his legs bent and flexed, the angle of his hips, his rhythm, his power. It was intoxicating, lulling. A warm drowsy peace settled within Jack as he watched, and he smiled when they reached their shuddering conclusion.

The dream would end here, he thought, not without some sadness, some regret. Slow to move, he watched Stephen withdraw and stretch out upon the bed. The woman rose and left the room with a remarkable grace. With a sigh Jack stood to dress and take his leave, but to his infinite surprise Stephen outstretched his hand and said in a dry, hoarse voice, "Not yet." Jack sat on the bed, looking down at Stephen's languid, satisfied form: soaked still, his lips a deep wine red, his skin in high colour which made his eyes a pale tropical sea -- just as tempting and just as dangerous. Jack's pulse beat in his fingertips from his desire to touch Stephen's skin, to learn his body and know what made him sigh or stretch or gasp. Then Stephen said with the slightest of smiles, "Wait and she will return," and Jack felt a pang of disappointment: sharp, brief, and quickly smothered.

Jack lay down beside him and felt how their heat rose together, mixed, covered them. It made him lazy and sleepy and he was deep in a semi-doze when the woman returned and climbed into bed between them, her moist naked body connecting them. The softness of the female form had always had a soporific effect on Jack after sex, and so it did now; he slept until the shadows angled sharply across the floor and woke with his hand cupping the woman's breast. She made a soft sleepy noise of disappointment when he let go, then rolled onto her stomach. Across her body Stephen was laying on his side, awake, watching. Stephen rested his hand on the woman's backside: his long agile fingers curved to its shape and lightly caressed it. Jack watched them, for he had always admired Stephen's fingers, from the first stitches Stephen had worked into Jack's skin, to the last fingerings on the 'cello.

Jack skimmed his fingertips up the back of the woman's thigh, but this was a ruse, as he knew very well: his fingers skimmed higher, over her round bottom, until they met Stephen's. He touched Stephen's fingernails very briefly, and when Stephen did not move or protest, he touched Stephen's knuckles. Stephen lifted his hand, pressed their fingertips together and stroked down Jack's fingers to his palm. The light careful tender touch sent Jack's pulse rushing; he curved his hand over Stephen's and Stephen stretched his fingers in response and they clasped hands.

As Jack glanced at their interlocked hands, feeling the eager heat of Stephen's palm next to his, the oddity of their situation -- naked together with Stephen's lady-friend between them -- struck him. Something of his thoughts must have crossed his face, for when he met Stephen's gaze, Stephen smiled ruefully at him. Jack softly smiled back; of all the things he thought it proper to be feeling -- embarrassment, fear, shame -- he could not master one. All he felt was a warm peace and sense of relief, akin to weighing anchor and setting course for a great journey.

Stephen tightened his grip on Jack's hand and pulled him forward. They met over the back of the sleeping lady, Jack holding himself up with his free hand and Stephen loosening his grip to caress Jack's palm as their lips touched in the softest of kisses. They kissed again, stroking each other's fingers, hand, forearm. Sweet, gentle, almost chaste, kisses. Stephen slid his hand to Jack's shoulder and held him to kiss him deeply, which Jack welcomed joyfully and answered by attempting to draw Stephen closer. At this point their bedmate, wakened by Stephen's bony knee poking her side, rolled over and looked at them. They stopped, and though Jack could not truthfully say he felt guilty, he did feel somewhat checked. He held Stephen by the elbow, and Stephen had his hand on Jack's shoulder. Stephen's look was inscrutable -- perhaps slightly cross, as if he were preparing his defense.

The woman raised an eyebrow and quirked her mouth in a frustrated pout. She sat up and slid out from between them, giving Stephen a particularly icy look as she left the room, her back straight and head held high, completely naked and indignant. Slightly surprised, Jack stared after her as the door closed. "Why, Stephen, I'm afraid I've sent your girl away. I'm terribly sor--"

His apology was cut short by Stephen's kiss, a stronger, passionate kiss, and by Stephen pressing him back against the bed. Thrilled and eager, liberated by Stephen's insistent desire, Jack embraced and held him and answered his kiss. For a long time -- kiss after kiss, deep and warm and savouring -- they lay together, with no hesitation in their touches: every long firm caress following a perfect and treasured path. It had the rightness of old lovers, Jack thought as he brought his hands down Stephen's back and felt his spine and bones and tight muscles and hot skin; it was as if they had done this before, many times, and yet there was the prickling anxious excitement of discovery. New taste and scent, new sighs, new touches, and the new feel of Stephen in his arms: caressing him without end, covering him with kisses, affectionate, loving, passionate, and hard.

Jack sat up and leaned against the headboard and drew Stephen between his legs, hugging him with them and sharing his great arousal. Stephen kissed Jack's neck and sighed, "Dear, we can't possibly--"

"Shush, old cock," said Jack, fitting him close until they were pressed together most tightly and perfectly and moved together in a wonderful, intense, drenched heat.

Stephen ran his hands down Jack's sides and over his thighs and held him as he thrust against him. Jack squeezed him with his legs and thrust back, very happy. He stroked Stephen's neck and back and the short fuzziness of his hair and whiskers, gazing at him fondly. Stephen kissed him, pressing harder, and they surged and pushed and slid together until the glorious moment when release came and they clutched each other and shuddered.

Upon catching his breath Jack gave Stephen a slow tender kiss before letting him go. Stephen slid wetly to Jack's side and slumped against him. "After all these years, you surprise me, Jack Aubrey," he murmured and lightly brushed one of Jack's scars with the back of his hand.

Jack thought there was a witticism very close to hand, if he could just catch it, but he was too drowsy and dazed and languid. He chose instead the truthful, serious, "I should say the same to you."

Stephen made a non-committal sound and rubbed his cheek against Jack's shoulder. He closed his eyes, saying, "Let's be shocked in the morning, shall we? I'm far too sleepy for the tears and recriminations now."

Jack smiled and bent to kiss his brow. "What nonsense." He settled with his arm around Stephen, who shifted into his embrace and seemed on the verge of utter unconsciousness when he opened his eyes and gave Jack a sharp look. A brief chill jabbed at the back of Jack's neck and he gazed at Stephen with calm, grave concern.

"Brother," said Stephen, "if you stay here, you'll be sleeping out of the ship. Much as I delight in your naked company, I can't in good conscience ask you to break such a sacred rule."

Jack looked at Stephen with the greatest affection. "Bless you, Stephen, I've broken holier rules than that. You may not have noticed, but I broke one just a short while ago, as a matter of fact -- or near enough. But you are quite correct. So I don't intend to sleep, and then it won't be _sleeping_ out of the ship, do you see?" He chuckled softly.

Stephen gave him a considering look. "What do you intend to do?" he asked warily.

Jack smiled sweetly at him. "I will watch you sleep, old soul."

"Oh, Jack," said Stephen in mild exasperation; but he kissed Jack warmly, closed his eyes again and settled more comfortably against Jack. And Jack, though he may have napped once or twice, enjoyed the peace of the tropical night with Stephen in his arms, in his thoughts, and in his heart.

(the end)


End file.
